


Peace in Our Time

by poisontaster



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Dean Winchester, M/M, Schmoop, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-10-18
Updated: 2006-10-18
Packaged: 2018-04-23 05:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 843
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4865126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisontaster/pseuds/poisontaster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A day at the beach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace in Our Time

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HalfshellVenus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalfshellVenus/gifts).



The water is cold. It always surprises him how cold the ocean is, especially when this is California, land of sun and surf. His feet feel halfway to frozen and he squints into the sun to look back at Dean, sitting small and oddly forlorn in the sand. The cast on his forearm shines bright, almost the same color as the broken bone itself.

Sam's toe nudges a shell. He bends and works it free, brushing away sand with his thumb. It's thin and not especially pretty, but he tucks it in his pocket anyway with some dim idea of bringing it back to Dean, who has an irrational fascination with them. Not that he'd ever admit it for one second; Dean is above such petty concerns.

He's had enough of the chilly waves; Sam wanders up to drier sand and sloughs back towards Dean. Of course Dean would never do anything so unmanly as wear a hat and so his freckles are burned dark and his skin is turning red. "Hey," he says mildly and drops to his knees, searching through his bag for the tube of sunscreen he brought.

"Hey," Dean replies dully, still staring out at the waves.

Sam squirts a generous amount of cream into his hands and rubs them together then attacks Dean's skin. Dean growls and tries to pull away, but it's halfhearted and lame just like when they were kids and it was John rubbing the lotion in. "Quit it," Dean mutters, eyes flashing with irritation.

"Take your sunscreen like a man," Sam growls in return, holding Dean pinned between his knees. "I'm not going to listen to you whine all night because you're burnt up like a French fry."

"I don't whine," Dean whines, ducking his head as Sam smears greasy hands over Dean's face. Dean smells like coconut and lime, sweet and laden with nostalgia. Dean didn't want to take the time off, unwilling to admit his weaknesses in any arena. He hadn't wanted to come here, to this beautiful and relatively isolated spit of beach in between towering green almost-mountains. But Sam remembers how Dean always looked, on the rare occasions they've been to the sea, the weird awed peace that smoothes out the lines in his face and the tension from his shoulders.

It's not often he can give anything to Dean. It's not the nature of their relationship and Dean's loathe accepting anything from anyone's hands but his own. Sam has to camouflage his gifts in inconsequence and subterfuge.

Dean shivers when Sam's hands rove over his sides and back and shoulders, even though Sam's hands aren't cold. Sam likes the texture of Dean's goose bumps under his fingertips. What Dean lacks in verbal communication can all be read in tactile cues. If Dean was a book, he'd be in Braille and require specialized training to read. Sam smiles at the thought and rises on his knees to twist around Dean and brush his lips over his brother's.

"Dude, don't." Dean tries to duck away.

Sam grabs the back of Dean's hair, a little longer now that Dean can't cut it himself and his pride hasn't broken enough to ask Sam to do it. "Dude," Sam mocks mildly. "We're in California and no one knows us here, even if they were paying attention." He makes a show of looking around. "Which they're not."

He closes on Dean again, who doesn't pull away, but is stiff and resistant as Sam's lips caress over his. Sam's nothing if not stubborn though; he cups the back of Dean's head and lets his tongue slip over Dean's resilient lips and then into the heat of his mouth. Sam's always liked kissing; it's no hardship to kiss Dean, soft and lingering, taking his time with it. Eventually—as Sam knew he would—Dean softens, his hand coming up to twine tightly through Sam's hair.

"Sam," Dean breathes when they draw apart to breathe. His eyes are closed, the skin tender and dark with exhaustion.

"No," Sam admonishes gently, pressing his fingers over Dean's lips. "Shut up, Dean." He pulls back and tugs Dean backwards between the fork of his legs. "If you at all plan to get laid tonight, you will sit here and I'm going to put my arms around your neck…" Dean groans and Sam ignores him, looping his arms around Dean as threatened. They both ignore the way Dean settles subtly back against Sam's chest. "…and we're going to watch the sun go down."

"And then we go back to the hotel and fuck like bunnies, right?" Dean says hopefully. The fingers of his unbroken arm scratch lightly on Sam's instep, also mutually ignored.

Sam laughs. He presses his lips against the nape of Dean's sunburnt neck and feels Dean shiver. "It's a beautiful day, isn't it?" Sam asks, murmuring against Dean's ear. "Sometimes I forget, how beautiful it is."

Dean leans his head back against Sam's shoulder, eyes half-lidded. "It's all right," he admits grudgingly. Sam laughs again and holds him tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Remixed by Ignipes [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/18867).


End file.
